Paradox
by Pheonicia
Summary: A Psijic Master instructs his students in the nature of contradiction.  Enjoy!


Master Linoril shifted on his cushion. But not with his muscles, with his magicka. A slight quaver in time, a pulse in existence. The students felt it and fell silent, their eyes affixed to the aged Psijic.

"Today we shall delve further into the nature of a paradox," he spoke, his voice made of age and smoke, words floating up like wisps of cloud to dissolve against the vaulted marble ceiling. "What is a paradox?"

The students shifted, bodies physically adjusting to the tension he'd caused. They didn't like it when he asked questions. Ever since he'd set Varasa's cushion on fire with a frost spell they were hesitant to volunteer incorrect answers.

"Contradiction. Two separate states that can't exist in tandem." K'Atarra answered boldly. The youngest Khajiit they'd ever had on the Isle, she had a wisdom and maturity that belied her scant handful of years. A paradox in herself, she was by far the most intellectual of this group of novices. Noting that her cushion hadn't suddenly changed state she relaxed, her robe wavering as she repositioned her tawny tufted hands in her lap. The child already had an affinity for the vagueries of mysticism. She sported a robe so dark it should be called black, but she maintained that as it wasn't the same colour as a lack of colour then it could technically only be called grey, as true black wouldn't be visible to the eye as a colour at all, merely as a void.

"By definition, yes," he nodded softly at her, curtains of white hair wavering forward and back into position. "It is the first step on the road to enlightenment to understand what _is_. But while you delve into the mysteries of what _is_, you must also explore what _isn't_."

Several heads nodded softly, the students pretending they understood his meaning. Ah, the young ones were so entertaining. By the time they'd spent a few decades in study they'd not only stopped assuming that they could hope to know what he spoke of, they'd finally started wondering if he himself fully understood what it was he said.

"And so today we shall discuss something of great importance. The learning habits of the common troll."

Snickers from the back of the class prompted the sudden decision of two cushions that their continued existence was no longer validated, and so they vanished with a whimper. The thud of flesh on stone floor was the only sound in the room.

"How can one best instill knowledge in a troll?" He inquired, his words beating against their ears with the weight of clouds.

"Unicorns," Syprel murmured, large green eyes the colour of dew on grass staring intently out the window. The Bosmer was one of her race who'd been blessed with a mind that was always halfway in another realm of existence. When she was in the plane of Mundus she was coherent and sane. But when Aetherius held her attention, she created mysteries in the world. Right now was such a time, as she'd somehow turned her hair purple since she sat down and currently was battling to keep her cushion from suddenly discovering that the laws of gravity did not apply to it. "Their horns tear right through troll skin. Saw a host of trolls slaughtered by a unicorn once, the dark red blood showing green against its white hide."

"But we want to teach the troll, not kill it," Martina squeaked before realizing she'd said her words out loud. A quick glance as she wondered if she could somehow hide inside her cushion followed. The Imperial had a voice made of rusty doors and bedsprings that managed to make Dremora sound like silver tongued bards by comparison. But she intuitively understood things that were not spoken, a useful skill for a Psijic to have.

"A troll would achieve enlightenment upon death just as all creatures," Syprel breathlessly explained. She'd turned upside down and was pushing against the floor in a bid to hold her cushion down. Her scrawny legs were wrapped tight around the floating pillow and her face was beginning to flush, red showing behind the winter freckles she still wore in summer.

"That is an obvious answer, and therefore not the one we seek," he interrupted, convincing her cushion that it wasn't a cushion, but a very heavy stone. As such it was bound to the ground from whence it came. The wayward cushion came crashing down to the floor, the Bosmer sprawled out underneath it. She seemed to prefer this position to being seated, leather pillow pushing down on her chest, and he let her be. One could always hear better when lying down anyway.

"No, we wish to share knowledge with the troll while keeping it alive. How do we do that?"

"With kindness," K'Atarra answered, somewhat less bold in her declaration. "Soft words to soothe the beast, gentle corrections until they have learnt better."

He laughed at the reply, and the blooms of the moonflowers curling in through the window shrank back into buds as years lifted from his shoulders.

"That works for children, but not for beasts. We are speaking of trolls, rabid frothing monsters. They will not heed gentle whispers anymore than they heed cries for mercy. Think."

"Logic?" Martina volunteered, a small noise of wind chimes in her hesitant answer. Turning his golden eyes towards her she blushed furiously while continuing. "Simple facts, plainly stated, so clear that even they could see the truth."

"And what happens if they see reality laid bare before their eyes?" Linoril asked, smiling so that the sunshine bounced around the room until all was white.

"Well, they'll understand," Martina replied.

His smile grew until the sunshine burnt itself away and the room was once more dark and still. "No."

"No?" K'Atarra inquired, clearly confused by his pleasure at Martina's wrong answer.

"No. You are all thinking of it the wrong way. Trolls, by their nature, are mindless creatures. If you were to educate a troll then it would no longer be a troll, but something that has never before existed. A smart troll can not be - it is a paradox of fundamental importance. We must always remember what _isn't_ when we ponder what_ is_."

"But trolls do have a wisdom of their own," Syprel protested from her spot on the floor. "They live and function and survive. Surely they have some form of knowledge."

"Of course they do. The knowledge of being, that which keeps them in existence in the first place. But in that knowledge they can't understand other forms of knowledge, hence the paradox. Wisdom without being wise."

Heads were shaking now, the students thoroughly confused by the lesson. That was always the cue for things to finish - lead them to the edge of the cliff, and then leave them there to decide whether or not the time had come to finally fly.

They left the room, and he was once more left with the company of himself. Almost. K'Atarra remained, thoughts weighing down her black grey robe until it threatened to float away.

"But if trolls have wisdom, can we then learn from them?" She asked with a whisper as loud as a roar.

"Of course, child. But how to do so without unlearning our own wisdom is a paradox for another time."


End file.
